In Spite
by benwrites
Summary: "Your friend was found dead at seven thirty three yesterday morning. Since then we have identified him and -" he stopped. The room began to blur. Sherlock tried to stand up but his legs wouldn't move. He felt crippled under the blow of the news. University AU, FTM!Lock, future Johnlock! Thank you to Harri for being my Beta
1. The Death

While toddling around his room, and humming along to _Mindless Self Indulgence_ 's infamous " _Get It Up_ ", the young man discarded the letters surrounding him which were addressed to a previous, unwanted was fully aware that the loud bassline from his speakers would be drumming on the walls of the next dormitory room and subsequently irritating the residents, Molly and Irene. He didn't care however, as they were only acquaintances.

He tightened his grip on the bed sheet around his chest. The boy scoffed at the memory of being told his chest wouldn't grow any further after puberty, obviously proven not to be true, as he was now twenty years of age and growing out of his favourite binder. He wished it would just stop for a while. Just be himself physically and mentally. Of course, the physical transition wasn't as important to him as the social transition he was planning to do.

He began rummaging desperately through his post, looking for the one letter that will legally rid him of his previous name. Others called it his "birth name." He, however, only referred to it as his dead name. Finally he found the letter titled to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and smiled to himself before ripping it open and reading over the words:

 _I, Sherly HOLMES of Oxford University have given up my name Sherly HOLMES and have adopted, for all purposes, the name Sherlock HOLMES. Signed as a deed on 22.4.15 as Sherly HOLMES and Sherlock HOLMES in the presence of Kai ALDER of Oxford University._

Sherlock read the words aloud, and repeated them over and over. He looked over the written confirmation and smiled, attempting to ignore the dull pain throbbing in his right rib cage. He delicately pressured the pointy bone slightly back into place and began to organise his once tidy desk. He found the spare frame from his drawer, saved for this purpose, and hung the letter proudly over his desk, clearly displaying the change of name.

Kai, his roommate and only real friend, would be so happy when he returned home.

Sherlock moved himself in front of the long view mirror and began playing at with his matted hair with one hand. He was always unhappy with his appearance, but he had just always assumed that he had to lose weight and become more manly. You wouldn't believe that the young man was transgender as everyone had always just assumed he was a cisgendered male. Sherlock didn't believe that he 'passed'. Although, he knew that he didn't need to pass to be himself, but once or twice wouldn't hurt. His hair, which was flopped over one side of his head in a tangle, made him smile to himself. It was finally growing to how he wanted it.

Sherlock was still closeted to his family and friends except two people; Kai and Molly. He was incredibly thankful that Kai had accepted him. He had always secretly wished that Kai would end up liking him the way he liked Kai. Sherlock never had liked 'pop-punk' bands like _MSI_ , or _Fall Out Boy_ until he met Kai in University. It's still not his taste but he would do anything for that scrawny boy. Kai was five foot seven, fairly androgynous, and dressed like he was trying to disappoint his parents. Sherlock, however, dressed almost permanently in a white shirt, black slacks and a tight fit blazer and was a good few inches taller than him.

After wriggling into his tri-top binder, Sherlock threw on his loosest shirt and boxers. There was a knock at the door. He ignored it; it was probably just next door complaining about the obscenely loud music, which made him consider turning it up. The knocking grew into banging. Flicking off his music, Sherlock sulkily dragged himself to the door, straightened his hair and looked through the peep hole.

"What?" He huffed, his pale legs defined by muscle tone. He saw two police officers, one male, one female. Probably his brother, Myctoft's people. He turned to walk away.

"Sherly Holmes?" The police officer stared, confused at the masculinity of the voice. Not Mycroft's then; Sherlock was convinced that Mycroft knew about him. that man knew everything. They looked towards the little hole in the door. "Does she live here?"

"Um… yeah… that's me," Sherlock sighed, accepting defeat and not bothering to fight back. He opened the door. The voice at the back of his mind menacingly recited the name and pronoun the officer had used. He promptly hushed it.

"Oh, sorry Miss. May we come in?" Officer Smith said, and walked into the room before Sherlock could respond. She scanned the room, staring with distaste at the sellotaped posters of ' _Mindless Self Indulgence_ ' and _'My Chemical Romance_ ' - bands she deemed to be 'outrageous'. She turned her gaze to the the stacks of paperwork lining the skirting boards of the floor. Her eyes glided over the Deed Poll but continued on; Sherlock realised she was preoccupied. He flicked his eyes around his small room, eyeing the posters and suddenly feeling oddly childish.

"What is it? Speak quickly," Sherlock pressured them. He began to become worried at their absence of authority. It wasn't like the police to remain docile if an urgent matter is afoot.

"I'm afraid we have some bad news, Miss. Perhaps you should sit down for this." she said in a solemn tone.

Sherlock slipped into some of Kai's loose Marvel sloggies, and slumped against his bed. He attempted to dull out the dysphoria at the back of his head, which danced around his thoughts menacingly.

"Your friend," started the other officer before noticing the Deed Poll on the wall. "Sorry, is your name Sherlock?" He corrected himself in embarrassment before pressing on after the boy gave a feeble nod, "Your friend, Kai Adler...I'm very sorry to tell you this, but...he was found dead at seven thirty three yesterday morning. Since then we have identified him and -" he stopped. The room began to blur. Sherlock tried to stand up but his legs wouldn't move. He felt crippled under the blow of the news.

Are you alright, Sherly?" The female officer asked. But she sounded sincere. "We understand that it is a shock, but we are going to have to take a few details. Is that OK with you?"

"Yeah, I guess." Sherlock's mind raced.

"First things first, can you confirm your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock whispered, pointing to the Deed Poll freshly hung on the wall. He felt sick. He could feel a weight against his torso like he was being held down. He checked and nothing was there.

"Okay, lets start. What was your relationship with the deceased?" she asked. Sherlock whimpered.

"Just roommates," he said sullenly. He would never be anything more to Kai again. There was a pause before the officer spoke again.

"We could come back this time tomorrow? If you don't feel up to it now. How about four thirty tomorrow afternoon?" said the man.

"Thank you," Sherlock breathed. "What case though?"

"We'll explain tomorrow. Take care of yourself, son." Sherlock smiled weakly as he heard the footsteps fade and the final slam of the door.

In the next dormitory room, Molly held Sherlock close to her chest. He had rushed over to see Irene and Molly after the officers left. Irene stared blankly at the wall of her dorm room; she was told about her brother's death an hour before Sherlock.

Sherlock's heart felt like it had been ripped in two. Kai was gone. That thought rung in his head. The grief-stricken man held the young woman close, hoping he would somehow wake up from what was just a horrible nightmare.

"Irene-" Sherlock started.

"Tell me what they said, Sherly," Irene pressed, her face blank. Sherlock winced at the name internally. He kept forgetting he wasn't out as transgender yet. It wasn't what he needed right now. His mind raced back to the police officers, forcing his mind to remember the finer details.

"There was a case. I don't know what for. They are-" he sniffled, "I'm sorry - they're meeting me again tomorrow." This was followed by a long exhale from Irene as she slumped back down on her bed. She didn't believe him. Sherlock could read that from her body language but decided to let it go. She had lost her brother after all, whereas Sherlock only lost a loved friend. "Why, what did they say to you?"

"Possible suicide." Irene stated. Sherlock and molly gasped. Kai wasn't depressed, Sherlock thought to himself. He analyzed all the times that he had seen Kai in the last two months or so, there were no visible symptoms of depression.

"It's ok," Molly consoled Sherlock, before kindly whispering his name in his ear. Molly tried to reassure Sherlock that Kai was in a 'better place', although he didn't believe her and sat twiddling his thumbs as she spoke. She was one of two people that knew about Sherlock. Well- the only one, now. He hadn't thought of Molly as a friend. Was she? Or was Sherlock just misinterpreting human contact? He did that a lot. He once believed that Kai loved him back.

The usually bold young man slunk silently in the corner of a dull lecture room. How dare he be thinking about his dysphoria at a time like this? Sherlock had his arm slung over his shoulder, using his elbow to hide the bulge, that only he could see. His shirt was wearing thin and his black binder was clearly visible through it. How selfish it was of him to think of anything but his roommate's death. He had only been told ninety minutes ago, now it was six o'clock and he was stranded in the last lecture of the day.

Shock, grief, and disbelief was drowning out the sound of the lecture. Professor Lestrade stood in front of the projector, a shadow cast over his eyes. The mumbling of sullen students sank the lecture's atmosphere like a lead balloon. The news of Kai's death had spread around the campus like wildfire.

Sherlock tapped his foot nervously, he felt the atmosphere of the room slowly swallow him, suffocating him. He felt like he was drowning in the anxiety that had built up in his throat. Sherlock's mind raced about the death. He blamed himself - he should've seen the signs! How could he have not noticed Kai was depressed?

The university of Oxford is globally recognised as one of the best educational institutes of the world; the students on the other hand don't mirror that. At least half the students were paid into the university by rich family members, and the minority actually cared about their higher education. Future doctors, lawyers, and politicians studied together, partied together, and slept around together. Sherlock wasn't one for these 'formalities'.

His only friend was Kai. Now who does he have? Had he killed Kai? Like the rumors were saying? He pounded his head. He pounded his foot against the floor trying to ground himself.

"Miss Holmes?" Professor Lestrade piped up in annoyance. Giggles scattered around the room as Sherlock realised that he was bouncing his leg off the floor like a lunatic and hitting his head with the palm of his hand. The chair beneath him rattled. Twelve minutes past six. There was a red area on his temple and palm.

"Sorry," replied Sherlock uncharacteristically. Lestrade disregarded him and carried on teaching. Lestrade and Sherlock were relatively close as Lestrade had been the only lecturer not to call Sherlock a 'freak' due to his deduction skills.

"I will talk to you at the end, please," he stated before returning to droning on about the lymphatic system. Sherlock straightened himself out, and rearranged his chest binder underneath his shirt. There was a whisper to his left about how 'washboard-like' he was. Even though this was meant as an insult from one of his peers, he smiled and returned to taking notes.

Sherlock's mind was back to focusing on Kai's death. Forty five past six, he noted to himself. He signalled the time to Lestrade, and he wrapped up his class accordingly. Thankfully, late classes were only fifty minutes long due to the excessive amounts of homework the students received. Sherlock's arm began to itch as he walked up to the lecturer and he felt himself sweating profusely. The few remaining students filtered out the door.

"Listen, I am doing this because I'm worried about you… I overheard a conversation between you and Molly the other day," Oh shit. "Sherlock? Is that your name now?" Sherlock began to panic.

The colour drained out of his face as he started to recede into himself. "It's ok, honestly. I want to help you with this, you just have to tell me how I can."

"Th-thank you, Sir," Sherlock's eyes welled up. He never cried, today was an exception though. In fairness to him, Kai had died and he had been outed, all within the space of three hours; he allowed himself one tear. Wiping it away, he said, "I got my Deed Poll today, I am going to come out to people tomorrow… When things have died -" he sniffed, "died down a little."

"That's ok, Sherlock. Let me know if you need any help. And good luck with that! It was hard for me to come out as gay alone, so it must be unbearable for you as a transgender person."

"You're gay Sir?" Sherlock seemed shocked at the news which amused Lestrade. The man nodded and made a hushing motion. Lecturers weren't meant to talk about their personal lives.

"You should be going now," Lestrade beamed kindly at the young man. "Straighten yourself out though, you're a mess." A rare smile appeared on Sherlock's face. It felt wrong to smile.

"Thank you again, Sir," he turned to walk out.

"It's Greg - please."


	2. Running

Without a second to lose, Sherlock ran into his room, grabbed his readily packed bag, changed into his trainers and ' _peck smuggler_ '- a tight sports bra- and ran. He paused for a brief moment to look at Kai's bed. Oh, how he had thought about doing things to Kai on that bed…

He turned out of the University and started through the winding sub-urban roads of Oxford. He stilled for a moment and stood admiring the magnificence of the University. He had never looked at the almost thousand year old institute. It was exactly seven o'clock. The sun had started to set, but as it was turning into spring, it was lingering around the horizon. The windows were illuminated and the light crept out onto the architecture of the building. When the cold bit Sherlock's legs, he suddenly remembered he was supposed to be running.

He ran, on autopilot, as he always does. He let his mind follow suit as well. As he rushed down the roads, feet pounding in time with his his steady heartbeat, a dull ache worked its way across his ribs. Yet he was oblivious to it; the adrenaline thawing through the pain. He turned left off the main road and down an alleyway. He knew where he was and slid to a stop. Sherlock was outside his dealers'. He crouched down and began searching through his bag for some cash. He figured getting high would help him forget about Kai, at least for the night.

How he wished to just see those eyes again. That nose, those ears, those lips. They were almost real in his mind's eye. He convinced himself that they would be even more realistic if he could just smoke something.

"'Ello stranger," Sherlock's stomach turned. Oh no. He looked at the feet standing over him. Those shoes. Sherlock lifted his head slowly. He remained on the floor, but prepared to run.

"Oh- no, no, no. This won't do Sherrrrrlooock," the man said, extending his words excruciatingly. "You knoow this is my territory," he kept erratically changing pitch mid sentence, causing Sherlock's insides to curl.

"Ji- How do you know about that?" Sherlock demanded. His stomach dropped to his feet at the thought of that man knowing his real name. He thought he could stay under his radar.

"You sound surprised," the man sounded almost disappointed. "You know I will always control you." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Sherlock's eyes avoided the smile that crept onto the man's face, he was a sucker for that smile. The way it grew from the corners and beamed to his eyes. The man's eyes were always full of fire. It was the type of smile that could make you melt and know that something bad will happen at the same time. Sherlock loved the danger. Although now he grew scared. He got up to bolt it. The man standing over Sherlock pushed him back to the floor with gloved hands. He blew three swift kicks to Sherlock's chest and abdomen. He coughed up blood. Sherlock could hear the man bouncing on his feet. He jumped repeatedly from one foot to the other like a child jumping rope.

A hand reached out to him.

"Piss off," Sherlock spat on the ground, there was blood. He rejected the hand in disgust and stood up. The man met Sherlock's eyes and stared him down even though he was shorter than the matted haired boy.

"You know I'm so changeable, Sherlock. So. Don't. Annoy. Me."

Sherlock later found himself in the nearest coffee shop at exactly seven fifty seven. His laptop was left on a table by the window alone as he ordered a double espresso. The man in front of the line reeked of HUGO for men and it began to sting Sherlock's nostrils.

"Can I use police force discount here?" The man asked the barista. After agreeing huffily they took a twenty percent discount off and served him a double espresso. Sherlock read the ID in the few seconds it was out; John Watson. John had short, combed hair and it was obvious he cared about his appearance. This you could tell by the way his shirt was tucked in neatly and shoes were newly polished. John seemed to notice Sherlock was ordering the same double espresso as him, and playfully sung " _snap_ " in Sherlock's face, seemingly delighted. What an immature man, Sherlock groaned to himself.

He sat back down at his table and started to tap away at his latest essay, a study on how antibiotics alter in molecular structure to painkillers. Mr Watson sat, purposely, opposite Sherlock and kept making desperate pleas to make eye contact. After twenty seven minutes of being stared at, Sherlock looked up and huffed.

"Can I help you?"

"I don't know, can you?" John winked. After a lengthy pause, John made his way slowly to Sherlock and sat backwards on the chair directly opposite him. "I appeared to have lost my number, can I have yours?" Sherlock spat his espresso back into the cup. The cheek of this man! "Come on! That was a good line!" John protested the man's feeble laugh. Sherlock was shocked that he was laughing.

"It was awful," Sherlock said jovially.

"Anyway, what's wrong mate? Who died?" he ventured. Sherlock visibly recoiled. Immediately John realized his mistake. "Oh shit. Man, I'm so sorry I didn't know!"

With that, he decided it was time to leave. He said thanks to the man for cheering him up and considered giving his number after that cheesy pick-up line.

He shoved his keys, pen and memory stick into his pocket and was surprised to find a small scrap of paper buried at the bottom of it. He nodded to John and then promptly left the shop.

Sherlock's mind wandered to the discovered note.

 _"Nice to see you earlier. You know I am the only person who will accept you, Sherlock. I will love you no matter what. I will love you in spite of you being transgender. You KNOW I am the only person who will ever love you..._

 _"You know where I am."_

 _-_ Jim Moriarty xo'


	3. Pretty Lights

The man looked so small curled on his bed.

Sherlock cursed himself for feeling emotion. He wished he could descend into the eternal abyss he had let his mind slip into. Sherlock clung desperately to reality as the sun sank beneath the urban skyline.

His eyes still stung from watching the sunset. The sun had fallen hours before. Fingers aching and limbs sore from repetitively clawing at himself anxiously.

He had watched the beam of light climb from the floor to the ceiling, illuminating the dancing dust particles. Now, however, the clouds had parted underneath the night sky and the stars twinkled around the crescent moon.

Sherlock longed to be wherever Kai was right now. He clung to one of Kai's old shirts desperately and squeezed his eyes shut.

He felt like his head had been bombed, and he could still feel it throbbing with pain. The high pitched ringing in his ears was harmonising with a dull drone in the back of his head. Not being able to cope with the stampede of emotion and noise, Sherlock shot out of bed.

He stood in the middle of, what was now, his room, confused of why he was standing in the first place. After what felt like an age of confusion, he decided to go the local library. The library, that was situated on the outskirts of the university campus stretched for miles across the city, was open twenty four hours a day. Despite its long opening hours, Sherlock assumed it wouldn't be too busy at two o'clock in the morning.

He walked slowly through the city, taking in the night view. The street lights left an ominous orange glow on the high-rise buildings, many of which were centuries old, dating back to Victorian and Edwardian times. He stopped several times in bewilderment at how the night distorts the city into a strange, foreign place. He pondered to himself - had he ever really observed the world or had he just been watching it pass by? He made an internal promise to better himself and keep the world as peaceful as it was in that moment.

Sherlock wished he could pause this exact moment in time. The cold air lightly biting his ears, nose and knuckles, but in an oddly pleasant way . The cityscape glowing with abundance of invisible life. He memorised this scene, storing it away in, what his brother calls, his 'mind palace'.

Sherlock started to move towards the library again and arrived at half past two. Inside he was greeted by a pleasant blast of heat and a courteous nod from the librarian.

He seated himself in his usual corner and after flicking through his emails briefly on the library computer, Sherlock made his way to the Crime section, specifically to where the 'true crimes' were. Even though he was studying a medical degree and will graduate as an MD, Medical Doctor, he wanted to work alongside the police. He regarded the police force as having potential for enhancement, and Sherlock believed he was the one to improve that. He flicked through the case files that were approved for release before finding an one about a man being killed with a spotted, venomous snake titles ' _The Speckled Band'_ and sat back in his corner.

Sherlock skimmed through the case file, trying to read each sentence faster than the last but still withholding the information. He tested himself on a scrap of paper afterwards about the case. Satisfied with his notes, he symmetrically folded the scrap and went to stand up. In front of him stood the man from the cafe.

Sherlock's mind raced through the events of the day before. He had met this man just a few hours prior, and now, by chance, they both were at the library at the same time. Sherlock was wondering if it was coincidence or not. He rarely believed in coincidences. Sherlock grew concerned that he was being followed.

"Oh, um, hi," John spluttered. His face burnt red and his lips puckered. "Fancy meeting you here." John appeared to reel off yet another cheap one liner.

"What do you want?" Sherlock grew irritated at the man's presence, although he couldn't understand why. He just wanted to be alone, but he was strangely comfortable around John. Feeling stupid at this comfort he turned it into anger.

"Nothing. Can I sit?" Sherlock scanned over the man, there were no weapons. He was carrying a large folder with paper crammed in, not filed. John had a coffee stain on his collar which wasn't there when Sherlock last saw him. Sherlock wondered what he was doing with a large, blue folder and staying up until three in the morning to come to the library. He had two possible conclusions. Sherlock nodded.

"I'm just going through this case file," John pointed at the folder. That confirmed Sherlock's latter theory; John was a police apprentice. It was obvious that he was not a police officer due to the cheap clothing and lack of confidence. "Aw, you are too! I didn't know you were in the police?"

"I'm not." he said, John let out a sigh. Sherlock glanced at the files a moment and his heart flipped. One of the files had _'Kai_ ' on it "What is that?"

"Oh, I can't tell you. Sorry. Confidentiality and all that," he seemed bored at his own sworn secrecy. He started to move the folder into his side bag.

"That's… Kai? Kai Alder?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Tell me right now, or I can make your life very difficult." Sherlock slammed his hand down on the file before John could move it any further. The papers inside scattered along the floor.

"Who the bloody hell do you think you ar-" John muttered to himself whilst hurriedly picking up the pieces. Sherlock muttered something sarcastic under his breath before legging it.

He ran down the dark alley, adjacent to the library. His hand held a single page from the file.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading everyone, please kudos/comment with suggestions for the further chapters. Hope this was alright, there will be a plot coming soon! Please tell me if you want me to trigger warn transphobia/dysphoria or anything else!**


	4. The Police Apprentice

He fell sideways through the door, dropping his keys out of the lock and scattering the documents over the doormat. He cursed and hurried to pick up the case. Individual words caught his eye as he filed them back into order and his mind began to whirl out of his control. He tried to keep his focus on the case file as he stepped out of the doorway, shut the door behind him, put the keys on the small, oak coffee table and slumped at his desk.

His Police Apprentice badge fell open onto the floor as he wiped the table clean. He glanced down to it, his own face staring up at him with 'John Hamish Watson' printed next to it. John, disgusted by the old photo, snapped it shut and threw it carelessly onto his couch.

He scanned the unorganised living room. The sofa was piled with clean and dirty laundry, making it impossible to sit on. The fireplace was roaring with a cozy haze, he had forgotten to pay his heating bill so he had to resort to using fire to warm the apartment. Next to the kitchen door was a 'Ben Cohen' calendar pinned to the wall featuring a man, only in a draped towel, lying on the beach, winking seductively back at John as he stared at the photo.

John noticed that the window was open and was letting in a bitter breeze. He got up and shuffled to the wall. After struggling to prize the window off the hook, he was able to shut it and catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair was sticking out o in various places, and there was a smudge of ink by his mouth. John hoped he didn't look like this when he met that man for the second time at the library.

Succeeding in making himself look half normal, he was back at his desk by five thirty in the morning. He dozily read over the case file of Kai Alder. The case confused him. The deceased man, Kai, had shown no previous implications of being depressed, and the sudden suicide seemed out of character. He also pondered over the fact that he had chosen to jump in front of a train. The nearest train to Kai's house was easily five or more miles away, and there were plenty of drug stores and lakes between the boys flat and his final destination. Why had he chosen to jump?

John checked the time again. Shit, it was already quarter to eight. He knew he was expected back at the station in just over an hour. He hurriedly shoved his file and notes into his side bag and ran out of the apartment, forgetting to lock the front door.

Arriving at the coffee shop at eight o'clock, he was able to buy a double espresso and sit down for five minutes. His thoughts drifted to the seat opposite him. The one that had seated the man he met yesterday. He smirked at the memory as he downed his espresso in a hurry. Sitting down now seemed meaningless as he left the shop in the same minutes as him entering.

As John jumped onto the nearest bus to the police station, he started to wonder if the man knew anything to do with his current case because of the way he had acted at the sight of the name 'Kai'. John grew worried that he had something to do with it, which would be a shame as John had grown fond to the thought of the man.

He doesn't believe in love at first sight. That's what he had convinced himself, until he had met that man. The man who was fairly petite, although taller than John himself, made John feel rather in rhapsody. His heart raced, his head span. He denied the fact that he could be in love with this anonymous man.

Upon arriving at the station, he ran straight to his office, not before checking the time. Dammit he was five minutes late.

"Cadet! You're late!" the D.I. burst through the doors, barking at John. John blushed at being called that, he hated it.

"Sorry Sir, it won't happen again." John returned to his desk and slumped down. He fought the urge to take a quick nap.

Half an hour into his shift the D.I. called a group meeting. John rushed to the room, eager to be at the front. He needed the brownie points to get the permanent job. About twenty people filed slowly into the small water cooler room and sat on the chairs and tables around a seventeen inch television.

"OK team. We have new footage from the train station," the aging man announced, flicking the tape on. John leaned forwards in interest. The screen burst from a black screen to a blur of images.

The small screen showed a black and white, barely focused image of a young man being pushed off the railway bridge and onto the track. A few minutes later a train came along. The D.I. switched it off. John stared around the room and was met by faces of discomfort and some queasiness.

"This clearly rules out the chances of a suicide. Unfortunately the quality isn't the best so we can't go off this footage. All we can tell is that the culprit appears to be white with dark hair. This isn't much of course," this was met with a chuckle of agreement from around the room, "but I believe that we can catch this bastard!" There was a triumphant cheer.

Just as his eyelids dropped involuntarily, a file was dropped in front of him. John had been sat at his desk with nothing to do for two hours and had been fighting the urge to doze.

"New lead," stated the D.I.. "Check over this person will you? We think it could be a very possible culprit." John nodded and snatched the file up. Finally, something to do. It felt good to have a new lead on a two day old case, which normally indicated an interesting story behind the death.

He flicked it over and his breath got caught in his chest, as he saw the man from the coffee shop staring back at him.


End file.
